The Apprentice
by TobyWong
Summary: In a reality where Connor MacLeod has been dead since 1536, we meet the apprentice of the strongest of immortals.
1. Chapter 1

_-- I: A gathering --_

Pain ran through her entire body like electricity. She tried to move her arms. She couldn't. The punks had just got off her. They had forced her. Abused her. Raped her. Two of them were whispering something to each other.

"What is it?" asked a third one, being glared back. It was nothing of his concern. They left the dining room, and her over the kitchen table, her dress torn open and her underwear ripped off. Her body was vexingly exposed. She had always longed for a charming prince who would be worthy of her virtue. The bastards had torn apart her idyll. They had also, as some sort of twisted fun, stabbed her below the heart. The kitchen knife caused her pain, a pain that was not as great as the inner ones.

Her eyes began to fail. The music she had been listening to when the assault began was deafening. Everything burned. Outside, bolts of lightning stroke. But rain never came. She was hallucinating. Life was flying away from her. The shadow of someone appeared at the door. Probably Mom or Dad, knocked down when the pigs broke in. It did not matter. Death was tightening her embrace on her...

She woke up with a start. Hell, what an awful dream had that been. She tried to reach out for her bedlight. Instead, she touched a metal wall. Her head began to ache. She felt sick. With her hands and legs, she realised she was in some sort of small metal coffin. She trembled a bit before bursting into desperate tears and hysteric calls for help.

Suddenly she felt something pulling her out. The light dazzled her. She blocked it with one hand. It was cold, and she was naked. Covering herself with the other hand, she glimpsed at someone standing by her. She slowly looked up. A tall, good-looking man, that had began to spread some liquid around the whole place. It smelt like... fuel?

"Get dressed and move." He commanded. She stood up and took a glance at the place. It was a morgue. "What part didn't you get? Move!" he yelled, before using his lighter to turn on a cigarette. She took a uniform some doctor had left and put it on, and went to the exit door. The man followed her, and before they left, he dropped the cigarette over a trace of fuel he had left. The whole place caught fire.

"What... what are you doing!"

"Covering up our tracks... like we all do." He replied as they both ran away.

-----

Darla Hails was back in Boston. She had not returned there since her mortal death, twenty-five years ago. She had been roaming aimlessly across the streets and had halted when she saw someone familiar. A former school friend, who was in her forties. What would she have looked like, had the rape never occurred, had not the pigs stabbed her fatally, had not she become immortal?

Her brown hair would be dyed in blonde just to cover the greys. She'd probably married to some real estate agent, wondering why in hell she was unable to have any children. That was a fact that would have bothered her parents, but it would have been better than the real state of things. Mom had been hit-and-run. Dad was serving life in prison for hunting, torturing and murdering at cold blood one of the murderers of his daughter. A technicality, and his years of service in the Army, saved him from the chair.

Then she had come across MacLeod. He was not pleased at all. She did not mind much about that. Seldom immortals are glad of encountering others of their kind. He still bore her grudge. They had found a desolate spot to sort out their differences the immortal way.

The Highlander was a decent fighter. She knew that. But she was as good, if not better. And he was ten times her age. She was coping well with him. However, in the spur of the heated fight, MacLeod found a clear spot and managed to impale Darla against his blade. She gasped, and sensed another immortal around. So did he.

"Duncan MacLeod!" a voice said.

A man in his fifties with a stick appeared and began to draw nearer. Besides him, a tall, slim man with short hair and an air of knowledge moved at the other's pace.

"Who are you?" MacLeod asked, as he removed her sword from Darla's body.

"My name is Joe Dawson. He is..."

"Adam Pierson." The other mumbled.

"You can't interfere."

"There are bigger issues than this fight." Dawson uttered. "I know all about you, the immortals and the Game, as you know it, is undergoing something that may bring the end really near."

Darla was still alive. She had not died only to be reborn later. The wound had healed and she stood up. She glared at Pierson. She managed to grin. The other returned the grin, slightly surprised of finding his acquaintance there.

"Methos..." she mumbled.

"Hello Darla" he replied.

"You're Methos, the oldest of immortals?" MacLeod queried.

"I am, Highlander." Methos turned to Joe "She should come with us."

"I don't think we can trust her. I don't even know who she is." Joe replied.

"Trust me, we can..." The four of them went towards a shiny Toyota van. "Though it'd be better to have the Kurgan himself..."


	2. Chapter 2

_-- II: An explanation --_

"My name is Darla. Darla Hails." She introduced herself to the men in front of her. She had been reluctant to leave the morgue with the longhaired tall man, yet she did not have much choice when he pushed her into his car and to that abandoned store. She wasn't very tall. Her hair was tied in a ponytail, and she was wearing a tee shirt far too big for her that reached her knees. She was 20 years old, yet looked like a small girl in clothes made for the Incredible Hulk.

Besides them, a third person was there. The shorthaired man known as Methos. He had driven the two others out of the morgue, had paired each of them with a sword, and was now making space in a deposit for what the tall man, who had introduced himself as Victor, planned to do.

" Have you thought about what happened lately?" Methos asked.

"According to you, I died... It was very confusing. I thought I saw bolts of lightning but there was no rain..." she shook her head. "I'm probably crazy."

"That was the Quickening. It makes us wake from the dead again and again."

"And how did it happen?" she asked.

"One of those punks." The tall man blurted out ironically, leaving the sentence unfinished. She didn't like remembering that. But he did not seem to care. "The other escaped... "

"So, I cannot die..." Darla tried to return to the topic.

"Unless someone comes and takes your head. It's the only way to get the Quickening." He added. "Let's start."

He put up his sword masterly. So did she, yet awkwardly. He attacked, and her weapon fell at the first contact. He pushed her to the ground and put his blade on her throat. She was weeping.

"I can't do this!" she said. "How can you? Aren't you afraid?"

"There is no terror in me. Death is a part of us all. We must fight until only one remains. And everyone wants to be the one... it's us or them." He wielded his weapon again. "And then, it might be you or me."

She stood up and took the sword again. This time, she managed to hold the weapon in her hand at his advance, and stopped his blow. However, in a second attack, he fiercely made her sword fly away, and sliced her stomach, bringing her to her knees. She was crying again.

"If you think some immortal will spare your life because you're pretty and lame, you're WRONG!" he yelled. "I should take your head... maybe now."

Victor retreated and took position again. She stood up again, and breathed deeply. He lunged forward. His blow was diverted and she clumsily attempted a counterattack. He dodged it and put his blade on her neck. She dropped the weapon.

"NEVER surrender until your head is gone." He let her go. "I've seen seasoned immortals do less than you did. You might be worth something after all. " She thought he looked charming when he was not aggressive. Then spotted a relic in his chest.

"That's nice. What is it?" she said

He turned back, without answering. "We will continue tomorrow," He muttered. She glanced at Methos, who looked away.

-----

"We are the Watchers. We've recorded the activities of immortals for more than you can count. We know almost everything of everyone of your kind. Always recording, never interfering."

But he has nothing on me, Darla thought.

"In 1991, a Watcher named James Horton tried to gather a group to kill all the immortals so that no one won the Prize. Unfortunately for them, this group wanted to start with a big fish. They were slaughtered. Small groups of these renegade Watchers scattered around the world, and we have been tracking them and dissolving them."

"So... where do we come in?" MacLeod asked. He had been uncertain as to Dawson's story, but Joe had puzzled him with an extensive biography of him, including facts that he, MacLeod, had almost forgotten.

"Now there is only a small group of renegade Watchers left. We've hunted them until here. The Watcher of a youngling stopped one of them before he whacked the kid. This man was taken to our quarters, where he's told us something unexpected."

"What? He's gay?" Darla joked.

"Funny girl, Methos. Where did you find her?" Joe asked, obviously pissed.

"Dawson..." MacLeod insisted.

"The leader of this faction... is an immortal, and a very strong one."

"Who?"

"I don't know. The guy said he was a very powerful one... It could be the Kurgan."

"No, he would never make others kill for him." Darla blurted out.

"Look, lady, the Kurgan is not a myth like some of the new ones think. He's evil... I've studied the guy. But what can you know about it anyway?"

"I'm more than 40 years old. I'm not a new immortal."

"An old girl." MacLeod commented with sarcasm, laughing at the remark. So did Joe. Only Methos seemed to remain serious.

"Joe... " He interrupted, "1983. San Antonio. Remember?" MacLeod's eyes fixed upon Darla with resent.

"The episode at the stadium? I could not follow MacLeod that night. I read the report of his friend's Watcher. Kurgan was involved, and then there was some delirium about an apprentice of him. The guy was sacked out for writing that... why?" At Joe's reply, Methos glanced at Darla with a knowing smile.

"Let me introduce myself again, guys." Darla said humorously. "I am Darla Hails, apprentice of Victor Kruger, better known as the Kurgan. But again, what do I know?"


	3. Chapter 3

_-- III: The enemy appears --_

San Antonio, 1983. The Spurs stadium was slowly becoming empty, after a disappointing defeat of the local team against the Celtics. Darla took delight in watching her home team again. She had liked basketball since she was a child. She could have been in the school team, had she been taller. Then she felt the call. She glanced behind, to find Victor staring coldly at her. She shivered.

He nodded at her and she followed him down to the garage. It was empty, except for two men leaning on a convertible car, exchanging quick comments, and waiting for them. One was MacLeod. The other's face was not fully at their sight, but he looked more like a teenager. They drew nearer.

"I'm Duncan MacLeod of the clan MacLeod."

Victor grinned. "The Highlander. I've heard a lot about you." Darla flinched. MacLeod was reputed to be a fine swordsman. However, she feared Victor when he became defiant and aggressive like now. "Stay back, pretty."

She obeyed. The two of them engaged in battle. MacLeod was skilled, and had a good variety of movements. However, Victor was the best at his style. She glanced at MacLeod's friend, spotting something familiar about him. Her eyes returned to the fight. Victor had sliced the other's right arm, and with the same movement, cut his belly. Then he punched MacLeod so strongly the Highlander could not hold his sword and, as his weapon, fell to the ground. "THERE CAN BE ONLY ONE." Victor yelled as he bounced his sword up and then down. Another blade blocked the blow firmly. Darla's.

"Don't do it, Victor!" She begged.

He glared in surprise. Never had she opposed him before. "Move away, girl," he bellowed. He pushed her away and put the sword up again.

"PLEASE!" she cried.

Victor hesitated for two full seconds, then moved away. She sighed gratefully and stared at MacLeod, who was being helped up by his apprentice, who was smiling in relief. That smile. She had seen it before. The bitter memories of her death rose up. He was one of the pigs, the one that had got away. She put up her sword and stormed towards them, under her master's astonished look.

"SON OF A B----!" she cursed as she tried to slice the kid in two.

The kid retreated and clumsily produced his own sword. MacLeod stood between them and spoke. "Despite what he's told you, we don't have to fight each other."

"This is between him and me. You can't interfere." She shrieked with rage.

"Duncan..." the kid asked fearfully.

"She's right..." the Highlander said. "But whatever outcome, there will be no more deaths tonight." The words were not aimed at either of the apprentices, but at Victor, who nodded. MacLeod got on the car to watch from there.

It did not last long. She lunged forward, disarming him with the first blow, and slicing his chest with the other. The loser fell to his knees and begged for mercy. She swung up her sword to finish it, and then let the blade tear the kid's head and body apart. A smile drew on her lips, which gave place to a horrified smirk a second later. Some blood was on her face. MacLeod was driving away. She turned to face Victor, who was staring with a mixture of approbation and surprise. She had passed the unexpected test... with honours.

Energy shook her. It tore her up and down. Every fibre of every muscle of her body vibrated in pain and pleasure. She heard the kid's silent screams inside her and she shrieked too. The Quickening made her soar. When over, she fell to the ground and broke into tears. She could still hear him. Farther, Victor was walking away...

-----

Darla was trying on a shirt at a shop. How fun had Dawson and MacLeod looked when they learned she had been Victor's apprentice, and that Victor was actually the Kurgan. However, it had not been fun for her learning it then. She went to pay for the clothes and noticed a woman staring intently at her. She had seen her before... many times. Probably it was her Watcher. She waved at her, who looked away and then vanished. Dawson had commented she had found information on her. Scattered bits belonging to an "unidentified immortal", who was watched by a woman whose name he wouldn't reveal. Doubtless, it was that woman.

She left the shop and spotted her talking to a man. They seemed to know each other. As she went away, the man headed to a black van and drove away. Darla called a taxi and told the driver to follow the black vehicle. She hated those imbeciles interfered with the Game, and would do everything within her reach to get rid of them.

Half an hour later, she was getting off at the open entrance of a private golf club, isolated from the city. She sneaked in, hid behind some bushes, and dialled a number on her cellphone.

"Dawson? This is Darla Hails. I found the location of these people you're looking for."

"Are you certain it's not one of our places?"

"I'm positive." She replied, having the confirmation only an immortal can have. "Find MacLeod and Methos, and also send in your guys." She gave him the address.

Having sensed that immortal, she knew that the other had sensed her too. She drew out her sword. It was all a question of time now. It did not take long however. A very neatly dressed man with short hair and a moustache walked nearby, wielding what she judged to be a Japanese katana, and smoking a pipe. She appeared before him, being greeted with a look of admiration.

"Greetings, madam." The peculiar accent triggered some stories she had heard. If that man was the immortal of those stories, then the Watchers were right. He was to be feared.

"Greetings, sir. I'm looking for an immortal." She said defiantly.

"I shall be extremely glad to help, if you give me his references." The man replied, always charmingly, and undoubtedly flirting.

"A Spaniard who began to take all the heads he could, in order to grow stronger to save mankind from an eternity of darkness. However, he took many evil heads, thus becoming evil himself, and a greater danger than the one he was trying to prevent. He uses the Watchers to kill all the immortals and become the last one by default."

"That's me. Juan Sanchez Villalobos Ramirez. At your service."

"I'm Darla Hails, and I'm here to stop you."

"I'd like to see you try." She lunged at him. He blocked her blow and kicked her away with much ease. She attacked again and he disarmed her with the same ease, before pushing her to the floor. "Now madam..." two buzzes startled them..."It seems we have company."

A car pulled over nearby and MacLeod and Methos jumped out of it. As they drew nearer, they recognised Ramirez. MacLeod was apprehensive, whereas Methos was just not surprised. Darla was with the blade on her neck.

"Let her go, Ramirez." MacLeod demanded.

"MacLeod... you revolving Scot. My only student who hasn't died by my sword... yet. Hello, Methos."

The Highlander had his sword ready. Ramirez released Darla, and went to fight him. Both swordsmen were thorough in their skills. However, after a while, MacLeod began to lose ground. Eventually, the Spaniard made the other's weapon fly away, and soon put the Scot to his knees. He had played with him.

A chopper was heard and armed men with guns appeared from everywhere. Ramirez retreated, knowing he had to leave. "Till next time, p-nd-j-s." After that, he headed away and soon the sound of a motorbike was heard, going away from there.

MacLeod stood up, embarrassed yet knowing he was no match for Ramirez. Him, Methos and Darla headed back to the car. They drove away, as the just-arrived Watchers took all the renegades down.


	4. Chapter 4

_-- IV: Untitled --_

"You won't be able to defeat him, MacLeod." Methos commented.

"She couldn't. I couldn't. Who can?" MacLeod replied.

"I know who..." she mumbled as her mind drifted backwards to the past...

1985. Darla had left Victor for a while, to wonder on her own in Paris. She encountered some immortals, most of which did not make it for another meeting. She also learned about the grey parts of immortality, not only the black and white Victor had taught her.

She had met Darius, an immortal who was a father at a church. He had been around for more than a millennium and every time they met he told her stories about the different immortals he had come across. One afternoon, she heard the story of the Kurgan, the strongest and evillest immortal. He killed his own father, beheaded his own teacher, and was eager for power. However, Darius commented, he had made one big mistake: he failed to absorb the power of one of the immortals with, in Darius' words, "a big part of the Prize cake."

Connor MacLeod was a young Highlander. In battle, Kurgan wounded him and right away took his head. However, the wound had not been instantly fatal. So the power remained in the inert body. It would have enabled Kurgan to become the last one.

Darla returned to the States. She had missed Victor terribly and longed to see him again. But their encounter would be the last, and a lacerating pain for her. They had met at New Jersey airport and were heading out when an immortal was sensed. They got in his car and he drove to an isolated spot in the city, where he expected the other. A car stopped by and a man with a rounded face appeared. Victor grinned. He knew him. Perhaps over the years she would get to know everybody too.

"Darla, stay out." Victor warned.

"You suddenly care for someone, Kurgan?" the other man said.

She heard the name, and stared blankly at her master. Victor did not seem to realise.

"Victor... you... you are... the Kurgan?" she mumbled in a barely audible voice.

"Yes... didn't you know?" the other immortal asked.

"So all... all those hard lessons... which I thought were the key to cope with immortality. All those 'us or then', which I thought an absolute truth... are actually the key to become an evil and ruthless assassin like you!" she shrieked, out of herself, blinded by tears.

"Darla..." Kurgan whispered, with the faintest trace of emotion.

"I don't want you anywhere near." She yelled as she ran away and out that place.

The clutter of the blades followed. Embarked by emotion, she reached an avenue and took a taxi. As it drove away, she felt a Quickening, and could not but give way to the tears.

-----

"Joe... when did you last heard anything of Victor?" Darla asked him, back in the bar where the four of them had gathered after they met.

"You should know. You're his apprentice, after all."

"There's been... some issues between us."

"OK. Then to the computer." He opened a laptop and displayed the file. "The Kurgan. Also known as Victor Kruger. Let's see." They waited for the data to appear on screen. "1983. The San Antonio thing. 1985. Killed Ozhta Vazilek in Jersey. Till 1990 he wandered around Europe on a beheading spree..." he stopped.

"What?"

"He met Father Darius in Paris. After that, he continued in Europe but spared the lives of all the immortals he came across with... Early 1991 he killed Horton. "

"What else?" MacLeod asked, joining them.

"The last record is from Buenos Aires that year. He took the head of Katana..." Joe grinned.

"What's so funny?" Darla inquired.

"Katana was a lunatic that believed immortals were aliens." Methos joined the party too, bringing four cups of coffee. "From his view, he was the General of the troops of the planet Zoist."

"Zeist" Joe corrected.

"Whatever. The point is he did us all a favour."

"After that, he returned to Paris. His watcher lost him there... he's always been hard to track." Joe closed the computer.

"Perhaps Kurgan grew tired of fighting." MacLeod suggested.

"He used to say that an immortal can find peace in the place where those who rest in peace can bring it to him." Darla added, standing up.

"A cemetery." Joe concluded.

"But which?" MacLeod popped the question.

"It can be anywhere... what?" Joe enquired Darla, whose eyes suddenly fixed upon Methos, who was finishing his coffee calmly. Too calmly.

"You know?" she whispered.

"He's in a cemetery here in Boston." Methos revealed.

"How can you be so sure?" Darla asked.

"Who do you think got him lodging?" Methos replied with a grin.

"Why didn't you say it at once?"

Methos smiled and put on his coat. "You didn't ask."


	5. Chapter 5

_-- V: Mentor of the Apprentice --_

The cemetery was cold. Darla had stopped at her mother's grave. She had never visited it. The other three continued down a path that led to a small structure built in cement at the farther end from them. A tall man appeared from inside. He had long hair and an abundant beard covered his face. His eyes were empty. No emotion poured out of them. He was almost a zombie. In his hands, he held his big sword.

"Hello, Victor." Methos said. "It's been a while."

Victor put his weapon up.

"This is holy ground." MacLeod uttered. The sight of the Highlander infuriated the other even more.

"Who's first?" Victor said emotionlessly.

"I am." Appearing from behind, Darla drew nearer, produced a Spanish broadsword, and stood in position. Evidently not recognising his former student, he attacked her. She stepped back to avoid his thrust and sliced his arm. He retreated. She went again, and did another cut in his arm. He dropped his weapon and kneeled.

"I am a worm. I deserve to lose it." He uttered hopelessly. She put the blade by her neck.

"Two things you should remember: one, we don't kill in Holy Ground." Darla whispered nonchalantly in his ear. "And two, never surrender until your head is gone. You told me that." She withdrew her sword. Realisation hit him and a bitter grin posed on his lips. MacLeod took Victor's sword away, and Methos helped the defeated man up.

"What are you doing here?"

"Ramirez is in town." Methos said. He could see the anger in Kurgan growing at the mention of the name. "He's using mortals to behead all the immortals, and become the last one without fighting."

"So?"

"How long will it be before he comes and gets you?"

"I don't know... and I don't care. " Kurgan turned back and headed inside.

"Kurgan!" Joe called firmly.

"Who is this crippled man?"

"If it's not for you, for them or for your kind, you should do it for Helena MacDonald."

"Helena's dead" Victor gasped sadly. Darla was staring at him, learning something new. MacLeod was unaware of who that woman was. Methos was silent, clearly cognizant. "Go away." he muttered.

Joe turned back and left. MacLeod followed him. Only Darla and Methos stayed with Kurgan. She was trying to know what was going on inside the head of her master. Methos looked at Victor for a few seconds then grabbed Darla and made a nod. They had to leave.

"One more thing, Victor." She said. "You were right." Then they left Kurgan on his own.

-----

The Highlands of Scotland, 1978. The bell tinkled at the reception of the MacDonald's lodge. A brown-haired woman in her mid thirties appeared from the kitchen.

"Good morning, sir. Want a room?"

"It would be nice." She took a book and a pen.

"Name?" she asked.

"Adam Pierson."

"Room 4 is fine for you?."

"Sure. Thank you very mu--" he stopped. He could feel a presence nearby. How to settle his way out without fighting was his first thought. A tall man dressed in shirt and trousers appeared at the door. He changed his mind. How to survive was in his mind now. The man walked by him and kissed passionately the woman, then offering his hand to Pierson, who shook it adamantly.

"This is Mr. Adam Pierson, Victor."

"I know... we go way back. Helena MacDonald, my fiancée."

"Nice to meet you. " was the reply. "Want to go outside to discuss the old days?"

The Highlands are considered the last wilderness. With reason. Pierson admired the green. Victor breathed in the air.

"So Methos... Are you here to fight me?"

"Last time we met, you tried to--" he asked, uncertain of whether he was talking to the same person he knew. "Now, you're nice, with fiancée... how many good heads have you taken lately?"

"People change. 300 years is too long a time. I want to settle here until..." Victor stopped. "What are you doing here?"

"I heard Thomas Cavanaugh lost his head in Inverness. So did Warren Cochrane in John O'Groats. Ramirez is said to be responsible."

Victor shrugged, "Kilvara's evil corrupted him. He should have stopped after that."

"He said someone had to stop you, and that since he had failed to protect MacLeod, it was his duty now." Methos added, before taking a deep breath. "Aren't you afraid he comes?"

"Evil or not, he's always been a fearful effete snob."

"Victor!" Helena called, approaching them. "I assume Mr. Pierson is joining us for lunch."

"It'll be a pleasure." Methos replied. She smiled and began her way back.

The minds of the immortals welcomed the sudden buzz with apprehension. A bang was heard and she fell. Victor ran towards her. Another bang and he was down too. Methos had witnessed everything, and hearing a horse coming nearer, turned to glare at the horseman, who beamed at him, rifle in hand. Ramirez.

"Greetings, Methos. Please leave my greetings to Kurgan, and tell him that I shall meet him in London. So long!" Ramirez rode away. Five minutes later, Victor was regaining life. Methos turned away. Helena would not return like they did, and her fiancé needed to mourn her alone.


	6. Chapter 6

_-- VI: The end --_

"I never told him." Methos uttered, after having narrated the story of Helena's death.

Darla, Methos and MacLeod were driving towards the same golf club. Ramirez had to be stopped. If he had used mortals to kill immortals, what would be next? Joe had left them. The Watchers would not interfere. There were no renegades left, and what immortals did only concerned immortals. They were just there to watch and record.

The Spaniard was standing idly against a statue, having a smoke. "I had the feeling you would come... who shall begin?" MacLeod produced his weapon. So did Darla. Methos stepped back, and leant against the car bonnet.

MacLeod attacked first, eager for a rematch. Ramirez defended himself well. The Highlander was good at what he did, but the Spaniard was better. That was evident. It was not long before he brought MacLeod to his knees. Ramirez put up his sword to finish it, but Darla blocked the deathblow, and kicked away the Spaniard, standing between him and the Scot.

"You won't be able to defeat him. You should have let me die." MacLeod gasped. He was indeed right.

"I might have a shot if..." She said. Someone else was around. They could all feel it.

"If...?" That was MacLeod's last word. Darla sliced off his head neatly, and caught a glimpse of the just arrived before the Quickening blasted her insides. Her heart pumped blood unfathomably fast. Energy streamed through her in and out. She flew up into the air. With the power circulating through her veins, she fell to the ground, and felt a blade on her neck.

"Very impressive, young lady, but not impressive enough." Ramirez said. "Oh, look who's here." She looked up. Victor was standing by Methos, wielding his sword. He had shaved, and was wearing leather trousers and a white tee shirt.

"We have an unfinished business." He said. Darla saw in his eyes a certain spark she had not seen in a long time. "Let the girl go." Ramirez withdrew his blade. She stood up, and went towards the car. She passed by Victor, and exchanged a quick look with him. Determination, bitterness, and rage were the things she saw in his eyes. Then she leant on the bonnet next to Methos.

"He's so dead..." she muttered, with a tiny smile of certainty in her face. However, she was now regretting having beheaded MacLeod.

"All because of you..." Methos said.

Ahead of them, Ramirez and Victor, after a ceremonious reverence by the former, started their battle. Each blow was tremendous. Ramirez had finally found his match, and more. The Spaniard contained the attacks as he could, but he was being overpowered. Kurgan was relentless, and was slowly defeating the other. Ramirez tried to cut his opponent's chest, but ended up with his armed arm maimed. He held the stump as blood gushed out of it. Kurgan laughed viciously.

"THERE CAN BE ONLY ONE!" Kurgan bellowed before beheading the Spaniard.

Darla was wondering. What would it be like now? Would they wander the world as teacher and apprentice, and she would learn more about him? Would they become something else? Would they chat a while and then part, to meet again who-knows-when? Either way, she would have the chance to do what she had longed for a while: apologise, and express her feelings for him. Perhaps he would do the same. Or so she thought. A sharp pain in her back made her fall to her knees. "Sorry." Methos uttered. She fell dead to the ground, and saw blurry flashes of the Quickening before fainting...

-----

Darla woke up in her apartment. Only the cut in the shirt remained of Methos' stab. She hurriedly left the apartment and headed to the bar where she had met Joe. He would surely know where Victor was. It was closed. Ramirez was dead. Watchers mustn't get involved with immortals. So why in hell would he be there for her? In sadness, she returned home and went to the kitchen for coffee. There was something over the table. A black briefcase, and over it a golden relic with a chain. She gasped as she grabbed it. There was an H stained in it. She opened it. The picture of a brown-haired woman appeared. Helena. She resembled Darla very much. She might have looked like her now, if she had not been immortal. She opened the briefcase. Victor's custom-made sword appeared before her, divided in three parts that could easily be put together. Something cracked inside of her. "Son of a b----", she whispered, overcome by emotion and bursting into tears like she had not done in a long time. ---------


End file.
